


OPCOST - the oneshot

by BeautifulDelusions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awesome Charlie, Cafe! AU, Cas doesn't know Dean, Chef Dean, Cutesy, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Pining Dean, Professor Castiel, Professor!Cas, Semi-Matchmaker Gabriel, Semi-Pining Castiel, pastrychef!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulDelusions/pseuds/BeautifulDelusions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a pastry chef at Piegatory Café, and he may or may not have a crush on a regular customer who probably has no idea Dean even exists.  But that's okay because Dean doesn't know the guy's name or where the guy works or if the guy's single or even interested in other men.</p><p>---</p><p>This is the originally-written-as-a-oneshot version of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1865370">Of Pie, Cookies, and Other Sweet Things</a>.  If you want to read the multi-chapter fic without spoiling the possible ending (though its ending will go further than this one), don't read this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	OPCOST - the oneshot

**Author's Note:**

> First, and foremost, I own none of these characters.
> 
> This went a little differently in my head than it ended up written. The POV changes between limited third person for Dean and Castiel, but it's sectioned so that it's easier to differentiate.
> 
> Felt like doing a cafe!au because why not?
> 
>  **edit** : So, after a few people said they'd like to know more about the story, I decided to shoot for the multi-chapter fic. You can find that [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1865370). I'm leaving this up for the people who would rather read this over the longfic. (;

Dean wasn't entirely certain when his "crush" (as Sam liked to call it) had started.  He had never even spoken to him, and he was fairly certain that Blue-Eyed Trenchcoat guy, who was commonly referred to as BET guy for discretion purposes, had absolutely no clue who Dean was.  Oh, yeah, that's right; Dean had no clue what his name was, even though he'd been watching the guy for about a month.  It was a little sad, actually, all the things he knew just from observing him.

BET guy had some of the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen, and he knew that even without ever being that close to the guy— _that's_ how blue this dude's eyes were.  He could tell when BET guy was running late not by the time he arrived (because he always showed up at the same time) but by the state of his hair.  It was almost always dry and perfect except for when it was still damp and curly, with one strand of hair defiantly curving out over the guy's forehead.  BET guy came in twice a day during the week—once in the morning and once in the evening—so Dean could tell the guy's day had been stressful if parts of the guy's hair were sticking up at odd angles.

Dean knew BET guy liked his coffee with hazelnut creamer and two cubes of sugar, and in the mornings he ordered an orange sugar Danish with said coffee.  In the evenings the guy usually just drank water and ate whatever their soup of the day might be.  Every now and then the guy would order a slice of pie, as well.  (That was how Dean knew the man had good taste since he chose pie out of all the pastries they offered.  Pie was obviously the most superior pastry.)

Sometimes BET guy would have someone with him, and Dean would get to see the guy squint and tilt his head if he was confused about something the other person said, or he'd get to see the guy give a full smile, not the bare quirking of lips that he offered to the cashiers who took his orders.  Rarely, he'd get to see the guy angry because of his companion, and his lips would press together as his brows drew forward.  And even more rarely he'd get to see the guy grin, all white teeth and gums.

BET guy also had little quirks that gave away how he was feeling.  If his fingers were tapping against his knee, he was a little bored.  If he was fiddling with the cuff of his trenchcoat, he was stressed.  If the tip of his tongue was poked out the side of his mouth, he was deep in thought.  If he rolled his right shoulder back in the midst of a conversation, he was nervous.

But even knowing all of those things, there was one major thing Dean didn't know, and it was that one thing that gave him pause.

He had no idea if the man was single, or if he was even interested in guys.  (He also didn't know what the man did for a living, but given he didn't know the guy's _name_ , that wasn't too pressing.)

But that changed when he convinced Benny Lafitte, the owner of Piegatory Café, to hire one of his LARPing friends.

 

* * *

 

Dean was in the midst of slicing freshly-made bagels when he caught sight of BET guy smiling one of his _real_ smiles at the red-haired cashier.  He couldn't hear what was being said over the sound of the bagel slicer, but whatever it was, the two seemed familiar with each other.

Figuring the bagels could wait a minute, he quickly made his way over to the two cashiers.  "Samandriel, I'm stealing Charlie for a minute," he told the shorter, sandy-haired boy, and—without even waiting for confirmation that he'd heard—grabbed Charlie and led her into the kitchen.

"Am I already doing something wrong?" Charlie asked, her brown eyes wide in fear and a little confusion.

Dean blinked before shaking his head.  "What—no.  No, you're doing fine.  I just...  Do you know that guy?"

Charlie didn't answer for a moment, her brows furrowing.  "...what guy?" she asked slowly.

"The guy whose order you just took," Dean replied.  "What other guy would I be talking about?"

She was studying his reaction a bit too closely, but he paid no mind to it.  "Uh, yeah, that's Dr. Castiel Novak.  He teaches Mythology at the college.  I'm in his Tuesday/Thursday early evening class.  Why do you..."  Her voice trailed off, and her eyes widened in realization as a smile broke out on her face.  "He's BET guy!"

"Not so loud!" Dean hissed, glancing around furtively.  He really didn't need people to catch onto that.  No one would let him live it down if they knew.

Charlie, as per usual, was blunt when she asked incredulously, "Why haven't you jumped him yet?"

Dean was fairly certain he was blushing to the tips of his ears.  He ducked his head a little and resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck.  "I...  I don't know if he's single.  Or if he'd even be interested."

The redhead snorted and crossed her arms.  "You have to have noticed the lack of a wedding band, and a simple, 'Are you dating anyone?' would work.  Never pegged you as a coward, Dean Winchester."

"I don't wanna make the guy awkward, though.  Like I said, I don't know if he'd be interested," Dean repeated with a frown.

Charlie shook her head with a sigh.  "You seriously have one of the worst gaydars ever, Dean.  Grow a pair and make a move."  And with that parting statement, she turned around and went back out front, leaving Dean chewing his lip in thought.

 

* * *

 

It took Dean a few days to make a move, and even then it probably wasn't the type of move Charlie had been talking about.

Castiel—it felt nice being able to call him something other than BET guy—had wanted a slice of pie with his dinner, and they had (rather abnormally) ran out of pie.  Since they didn't get many evening customers, they rarely made more if they ran out in the late afternoon, especially since they had a decent selection of pastries left.  From the glance Dean had gotten of him, Castiel had looked a little upset but smiled anyway and paid for his soup.

After a split second of indecision, Dean had promptly returned to the kitchen and started making a cherry pie.  He had to time it just right, or Castiel would leave before he could slice it.  He worked quickly but efficiently and had it in the oven in record time.  He periodically checked on Castiel while continuing to assist in making sandwiches and checking on the pastries upfront, figuring out what could be salvaged for the next day and what would need to be either given away or thrown away that evening.

He was extremely nervous, praying fervently that Castiel would stay for about ten more minutes, when he pulled the pie out of the oven.  And that was precisely when Benny found him.

"I hope you're willing to take that out of your paycheck, brother," the man drawled, and Dean nearly dropped the pie.

With a shaky breath, he set it down on the counter and looked over his shoulder at Benny with a slight smile.  "I actually left a note on your desk already telling you I was making a cherry pie."

Benny studied him for a moment before asking, "Mind explainin'?"

Dean almost told him that yes, he did mind, but he stopped himself before he did, and it wasn't because sassing his boss was a bad idea.  He and Benny were pretty close; the guy had helped Dean through a rather rough time when he was younger, and he had been nothing but helpful ever since.  "One of the regular customers wanted a slice of pie, and we were out, so I thought I'd make one," Dean answered truthfully.

Benny mulled that over, nodding thoughtfully.  "So you decided to make an entire pie because one customer wanted a piece?"

Dean swallowed before answering hesitantly, "Yes."

Benny suddenly smirked, quirking a brow, "BET guy?"

He felt his eyes widen, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before looking away from Benny and to the pie.  He could feel his ears burning with how hard he was blushing.  "His name is Castiel," he finally muttered.

Benny chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder before walking away. 

"Dean."

Dean blinked and looked up to see Benny standing a few steps away.  "Yeah?"

"The pie won't come out of your paycheck."  With a grin and a wink, Benny headed further into the back, towards the door that led to his office.

Feeling a little better and thinking that maybe his luck was rising, Dean walked back out front and checked to make sure Castiel was still there.  Upon finding the guy sitting in his trenchcoat, the knots in his stomach loosened.  This was good.  But as the minutes slowly ticked by, he realized he wasn't quite ready to take the pie to Castiel while he was sitting there, and he found himself retreating into the kitchen so he could have his meltdown a little more privately.  What could he possibly say?  "Oh, I heard you wanted pie, and we don't usually make them when we run out, but I decided to make one anyway"?  Yeah, _that_ wouldn't be weird.

Before he could sulk about how his plan was going to go to waste, a blessing appeared out of nowhere in the form of Charlie.  He grinned widely when he saw her walk into the kitchen, and he quickly darted forward.  "Charlie, I need you to do something for me," he rushed out, not even giving her a proper greeting.

Charlie laughed softly before retorting, "Great to see you, too, Dean.  My day was fantastic, thank you.  I aced my Mythology paper.  Hermione would be proud."

Dean glared at her momentarily.  "Cut the sass.  I need you to take a piece of pie to Castiel."

It took Charlie a second to put it together before she retorted, "No!  Take it yourself!"

"Oh, come on!" he groaned.  "He knows you, so it wouldn't be weird.  You could make up an excuse.  I can't."  He looked down at her with just a hint of pleading on his face.  "Please."

Charlie sighed before holding her hands up.  "Okay, I'll do it.  But in return I get to choose your LARPing outfit this Saturday," she muttered.

Dean gave into the moment and hugged her quickly before releasing her and turning to make his way back to the pie.  He cut a slice as fast as he could and grabbed one of the plastic containers they put them in when someone asked for a slice to go.  A moment later, the container was closed and being pushed into Charlie's hands.

"And what, exactly, am I supposed to tell him?" Charlie queried, cocking a brow.

"How should I know?" he shot back.  "Just walk up to him and figure it out.  Maybe he'll bring it up."

The redhead rolled her eyes before turning around and exiting the kitchen. 

Oh, yeah, this was going _swimmingly_.

 

* * *

 

Castiel had just started to gather his items to leave, planning out the route back to his apartment that would lead him by one of his favorite restaurants.  He could call them on his way and order a slice of pie, though he knew it wouldn't be the same.  Piegatory Café definitely had the best pie he'd ever tasted, and he was a little bummed by the fact that a place with "pie" in their name was _out of pie_.

He shoved the last folder into his briefcase with a little more force than needed, his mood sour once again.

"Dr. Novak?"

The feminine voice had Castiel looking up in surprise, and he found himself smiling at the sight of the familiar red-haired girl who sat at the front of his class.  "Miss Bradbury.  How can I help you?"

Charlie smiled at him, and she shifted something in her hands, and he glanced down at them briefly before returning his gaze to her face.

Then he looked down again, and his brows furrowed.  She was holding a container that had the Piegatory Café logo on it, and in the container was a slice of pie.  The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, "The cashier said you were out of pie."  When he realized what he'd said, he felt his face flush, and he cleared his throat to apologize.

"Oh, we were.  But one of the chefs overheard, and he's mostly in charge of pastries.  He wasn't sure if the customer was still around," Charlie answered, her words rushed at random intervals and halting at others.  Castiel tilted his head slightly, unsure if he believed her.  "But, um, since you are, here.  You can have this piece.  There's still some pie left, so I can get another piece."

He glanced down at the container as she thrust it toward him, and he hesitantly reached out and took it.  "Thank you," he answered, gaze flicking back up to her eyes.  "And tell the chef thank you as well."

Charlie nodded a little too enthusiastically.  "Yeah, no problem!"

Castiel frowned when she started to retreat.  "Wait, Miss Bradbury, you never said what you needed."

"Oh!  Um, it's nothing that can't wait.  You'll probably answer it in lecture on Thursday.  Have a good evening!" Charlie practically tripped over the words, trying to get them out as quickly as she could before she hastily retreated.

Castiel simply stood there puzzled, his gaze settling on the pie.  He had the distinct feeling she might have been lying.  But then again, he'd probably caught her off-guard by saying something about the pie.  If they'd had some in the back still, then it probably wouldn't be good to admit the cashier had been lying about not having any more pie.

With a slight shrug (and a smile since he had gotten a slice of pie like he'd wanted) he picked up his briefcase and left.

 

* * *

 

After that evening, things altered a bit at Piegatory Café, but only on Wednesdays and Fridays.

Castiel didn't really notice at first.  It had started out normally enough, and there wasn't much of a connection to make between the pastries he was given along with his soup.  But then again, he wasn't really _looking_.

That changed one Friday evening when he got home and opened the paper bag his pastry had been put in.  His brows furrowed when he saw a blue piece of paper folded in half and taped to a plastic container.  Pulling it out of the bag, he gently pried the sheet of paper off the top of the box and unfolded it.  In the middle of the lower half were the words, _"I heard you like angels."_

They didn't make much sense until he pried open the container.

And then his jaw dropped slightly.

It was a cookie in the shape of a human, with wings protruding from the sides.  The face and body were cartoony, but the wings were actually rather detailed.  And the face and clothes on the angel were his.  It was his dark brown hair and blue eyes, his trenchcoat and white shirt with a blue tie, his black pants and shoes.  It was obvious that whoever had made it had worked hard on it, and he felt oddly pleased by it.  After taking a picture, he ventured to take a bite and almost moaned; just like everything else he'd been given, it was delicious. 

During lecture on the following Tuesday, he suddenly remembered that in his last lecture, he had stated angels were one of his favorite creatures.  Things started to fall into place, and after the lecture was over, he approached Charlie and offhandedly commented, "I kind of imagined I'd have white wings, not black."  He grinned at her slightly shocked expression before he walked away, and he felt satisfied that she'd transfer his message when he heard her laughter a moment later.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday's pastry wasn't anything grand (green macarons with pistachio filling), and it didn't have a note, either.  Castiel wouldn't deny that he was a little disappointed, but then again, he hadn't really said anything during his lecture that could really be used to make a significant pastry.  He resolved to say something during the next evening's lecture, even if it wound up having to be a little out of place.

When he opened the bag on Friday, his stomach twisting nervously, he found a blue piece of paper once more, and he found himself grinning.  He quickly pulled the container out and pulled off the paper, his eyes finding the words scrawled on the lower half of it.

_"White is too cliché and makes me think of the little naked cherubs.  I imagined you as more of a soldier, and black wings just suited that better.  Though, to be fair, black wasn't the color I had in mind, either.  I was thinking more raven-colored, so they shone blue in the right lighting, but my imagination surpassed the options I had for icing color._

_Our mutual acquaintance also informed me you liked cats, but I'm more of a dog person."_

Like the first time, Castiel was a little confused until he opened the container.  His eyes rounded, and he inhaled a sharp breath.

This cookie was larger than the first one, but for good reason because staring back at him was a three-headed dog.  His breath expelled on a laugh. 

 

* * *

 

Castiel's exchanges with the stranger continued through Charlie, who was rather good-natured about it all.  He would work his lectures out to where he could say something that would seem normal but would also convey his next challenge to his mystery chef, and at the end of the lecture he'd smile at the redhead and give her a piece of paper containing his reply to the messages being taped to the pastry container.

Before he knew it, the end of the semester was approaching, and he was dreading it.  He'd thought up someone in his mind, and he was a little concerned that he'd be... disappointed by who the mystery chef really was.  He didn't want their banter to end, but he knew there was only one way for that to happen, and he wasn't ready for it.  So with two lectures left before the final, Castiel made a choice.  He didn't work in his random comment, and he didn't write a reply to the last message.  Instead, he walked up to Charlie and gave her a slight smile as he stated sincerely, "It's been fun." 

And like a coward he walked away before the words could register in her mind.

 

* * *

 

Castiel knew he had no right to be upset about the lack of a bag the next day, but he was still a little disheartened when he picked up his soup. 

"Oh, wait, sir, this is yours, too!" the girl behind the counter exclaimed, and Castiel blinked before looking over his shoulder.  She was holding out a much larger bag—this one plastic with handles—toward him.  Stunned, he accepted the bag and walked over to his normal table without really thinking about it.

He quickly made his way back to his apartment after finishing the soup, not lingering like he usually would.  His heart was practically in his throat as he walked through the door and set the bag down on his kitchen table.  He stared at it, feeling abnormally afraid of it, and after a few minutes of just standing there, he finally took a step forward and forced his trembling hands to push open the bag.  There was a pan in the bottom with a lid on top of it, and a familiar piece of blue paper was sitting on top.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Castiel picked up the sheet of paper and unfolded it.  The message wasn't anywhere near as long as he'd grown accustomed to, and he hated himself for feeling upset about that when he'd been the one to make the decision of stopping their... whatever it was.

_"Cas,_

_I hope it's all right if I still call you that.  I got your message.  I know it's stupid to press my luck, but I thought I'd make one last thing.  It's nothing special.  Well, not to you, anyway.  But it is special to me, even if it's not pie.  If you want to know why, you have one last lecture tomorrow, and you know how to find me.  It really has been fun.  Thanks for playing along._

_P.S. I've been told by some it tastes better cold, but others like it warm, so try it both ways._

_P.P.S. I'm betting on cold."_

Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat as he folded the paper and set it down on the table.  He pressed his hands down on it, feeling a little twinge of irritation at his chef.  This wasn't playing fair, and he knew the stranger knew it.  Pressing his lips together tightly, he breathed out slowly through his nose, leaning forward to take the pan out of the bag.  After setting it on the table, he unlatched the sides of the lid and pulled it off.

It was a _cake_.  All he could see was what looked like chocolate, but it didn't look like icing.  It looked like cake.  Absolutely bewildered, he stumbled further into the kitchen and found a fork before grabbing a small saucer plate.  He returned to the kitchen table and worked one of the already-sliced pieces out of the pan and onto the plate.  His brows furrowed even more when he saw the cake was yellow, but the chocolate substance was also mostly surrounding the sides of the slice, as if it were its own little iced cake.

_"I don't really like cake."_

The words flashed in his mind, and he silently cursed the chef for piquing his curiosity.  What about this cake was supposedly special?  Was it really worth asking?

Shaking his head to rid himself of the thought, he turned and made his way back into the kitchen to heat the slice of cake up as his chef had suggested. 

 

* * *

 

The next morning he pulled a slice out of the fridge; he decided he liked the cake better when it was cold.  The chocolate was more solid and added a chewy but also crunchy texture to the cake, and it was just phenomenal.  It was probably one of the best desserts his chef had made him.  But he didn't give Charlie a message, and on Friday, his soup was alone.

On Saturday one of his many siblings barged into his apartment with a shout of, "Hey, Cassie!"

Castiel sighed, dropping his head down against the couch.  Of course it was Gabriel.  Fate enjoyed torturing him.  Closing the book he'd been peacefully reading, Castiel pushed himself up from the couch and went around the corner to the kitchen.  "What are you doing here, Gabriel?"

The brunette wasn't listening.  Instead he was pulling out the plate of cake Castiel had covered in saran wrap.

Castiel stiffened, unwilling to share those few pieces.  He had taken part of it to the college with him and given some to the staff he was friends with; those few pieces were all he had left, and he wanted to savor them.  "Gabriel, put that up, please," he requested softly.

Gabriel suddenly looked up at him, his golden-brown eyes narrowed the tiniest bit in concentration.  "Where did you get this?"

Castiel released an irritated sigh.  "Someone made it for me.  Will you please put it up?"  He couldn't be entirely sure, but he believed his words were clipped.

"Someone made it for you?  This cake?" Gabriel asked, his voice sounding a little excited.

"Yes, that's what I said.  Now _put it back_ ," he gritted out.

Gabriel laughed but did as Castiel had requested.  "Is it from that person you've been writing notes to?  Mystery Chef with the Blue Paper?"  Castiel, tired of the questions, simply nodded in response.  "Do you know who it is now, then?"

Castiel blinked, his irritation fading.  "What?"

"I assume you know who he is.  That cake's kind of a big deal," Gabriel answered, chuckling.  "Especially since he doesn't make them often.  He prefers to put his talents into pies more than anything."

Anticipation caused Castiel's heart to speed up, and he gripped the back of the barstool hard as he leaned forward.  "So it _is_ a guy?"  He'd had his suspicions, of course, but it was definitely nice to have them confirmed.  "Gabriel, you—you know who it is?"

Gabriel's brows rose, and he frowned.  "Wait, _you_ don't?"

"No, I don't," Castiel answered in a rush.  "Is it someone I _should_ know?"

Gabriel shrugged, reaching back to rub at the back of his head.  "I'm not sure if you would have seen him unless he walked up to you.  Which is a little sad because you are _so_ missing out, Cassie," he teased, grinning momentarily before it fell.  "You really don't know, do you?  Do you at least know about the cake?"

Castiel felt shame and a little guilt beat back his anticipation, and he felt his face flush.  "I do not."  He reached a hand up and pulled at his hair with a huff.  "Our communication was through a student of mine, and...  I was afraid to keep it up because I knew we'd have to see each other to continue it.  He made the cake and gave me one last letter saying if I wanted to know why the cake was special, I'd have to ask in my last lecture.  I didn't ask."

Gabriel winced before sucking a breath in between clenched teeth.  "Ooooh, not your smartest move.  All right, let's go.  We're going to fix this, lest you be miserable the rest of your life."

 

* * *

 

"Dean!"  The shout came from almost completely across the restaurant, and Dean rolled his eyes.  If this were any place but The Roadhouse, Jo would probably have been fired by now.

He was currently making a drink for one of his tables, and he didn't have the inclination to look up.  "What?" he called back loudly enough to be heard.

"Table of two requesting you!" Jo shouted back.

There was a question in there somewhere, Dean knew.  It took him a few seconds to find it.  "It's fine!  Put 'em in one of Ash's booths or somethin'!"

He had almost finished making the drink for table thirty when he heard, "They're at sixteen!"  He took a brief moment to give her a thumbs up, and then he quickly made his way to table thirty and dropped off the drink with a grin and a wink at the girl who'd ordered it.  Flirty waiter almost always got him more tips with females.

Dean pulled out his notepad as he made his way blindly to table sixteen.  His gaze landed on a brunette with whiskey-colored eyes, and he groaned exaggeratedly as the guy grinned.  "Hey, Dean-o!"

"Man, I've gotta see you in, like, three weeks, and that's way too soon.  You couldn't have waited?" he sighed, playing put out.  He actually didn't mind Gabriel's presence most days; the guy could be funny if he wanted to.  Unfortunately, that humor had been directed at Dean for their past interactions.

"Nope!  I wanted to introduce you to someone!" Gabriel answered, and the grin he sported meant he was definitely up to something.

Dean stiffened when he remembered that there were supposed to be two people at the table, which meant he'd been ignoring half of his tip.  Shit.  He shifted his gaze from Gabriel and directed it to the opposite side of the table, his mouth parted to speak.

Any words he was going to say died in his throat as his eyes met the vibrant blue ones of Castiel Novak.

"Well, I think you may already know his name, but this is my little brother!"

 _Shit_.

 

* * *

 

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath when Gabriel's words filtered into his brain.

This was his mystery chef.

 _He was gorgeous_.

His light brown hair was kept a little short, and freckles were scattered across his nose and cheekbones and his forehead; he even saw one on the guy's lower lip.  He had the ridiculous urge to lick it.  Swallowing thickly, he allowed himself to look up into the eyes of his mystery chef—Dean, _Dean_ ; the guy's name was _Dean_.  Dean's eyes were the greenest green to ever green, and that was about as eloquent as Castiel could put it.  They were absolutely stunning, and he found himself wanting to count the different shades of green spiraling around the pupil.

There were many things Castiel had regretted denying himself throughout his life, but this— _Dean_ —was probably the one thing he would have regretted most. 

 

* * *

 

Dean's lower lip found its way between his teeth as he waited for Cas to speak.  The situation was nerve-wrecking, and Dean momentarily hated and cursed Gabriel.  The SOB had definitely known what he was doing, and it was cruel, even for him.  He'd been rejected by the Mythology professor just a few days ago, and now Gabriel expected him to _wait on them_?

But then Cas's expression shifted, transformed into something that had Dean's stomach knotting in anticipation; it was a look of wonder.  And it was directed at _him_.

"You—you're the one who's been making all those things?" Cas whispered, as though he couldn't believe it.

Dean felt heat creep up his neck, and he ducked his head a little, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor.  "Uh, yeah," he answered, his voice croaking slightly, causing his blush to spread into his face as he cleared his throat.  "Hi, Cas."

That was when Dean was graced with his first grin, all white teeth and gums, and he found himself grinning back.

"Hello, Dean."

 

* * *

 

Their interaction at The Roadhouse was cut short by Ellen yelling at Dean to do his damn job.  For the most part he wasn't even allowed to really converse with Gabriel or Castiel past the usual niceties of a server, which mostly left Castiel—according to Gabriel—alternatively looking like a scolded puppy or like he had found the eighth world wonder, depending on how far away Dean was at the time.  Castiel denied looking like either of those things.

But it seemed Ellen was apparently willing to allow Dean off his shift a little early, and after a mild threat from the owner of The Roadhouse—something about a friend who owned a junkyard and could insure his dead body would never be found—Castiel found himself showing Dean into his apartment.  He was a little apprehensive as he watched Dean take in the place.  It was a little more upscale than most professors could afford (but Castiel had more money than just his teaching salary) and had nice, granite countertops and a few stainless steel appliances.  The overall quality of the apartment wasn't what bothered him _too_ much, though.

The place was kind of a mess.  He had mail strewn out along the countertop, and his briefcase was on the kitchen table, half of its contents spilled out of it from where Castiel had been searching for the outline he'd made for the Mythology final.  The final weeks of class were usually when things got stressful for him, and he typically allowed his apartment to go all to hell; he knew the living room was in much worse shape, and even though Dean wouldn't likely be in his bedroom, it currently looked like a tornado had ripped through it, and just the thought of it made his face burn in embarrassment.

Maybe he shouldn't have suggested going back to his place.

Clearing his throat, Castiel stepped around Dean and avoided his gaze.  "Um, excuse the mess.  It's...  The last weeks of class are always..."

He heard Dean chuckle softly.  "Yeah, I know.  Your hair's been sticking up at odd angles because you've pulled at it so much."

Castiel stopped short and turned around to look at Dean, who seemed to realize what he'd just said because he promptly looked off to the side as color swept into his face.  Castiel felt a smile tugging at his lips as warmth burst through him.  "My brother Michael is always telling me it's an awful habit, and I need to stop."

Dean's eyes flicked back to him for a moment, and he offered a sly smile.  "I think it looks kinda hot."

The words were so unexpected that Castiel sputtered out a quick laugh.  He cut himself off the second he could, but Dean didn't seem offended by it and instead was watching him rather fondly.  Heat flooded his face, and he glanced around as he tried to think of something to say.  "I like the cake cold," he blurted without consent from his brain.  That wasn't the topic he wanted to breach just yet.

Dean's smile became strained, and he suddenly looked uncomfortable.  "I knew you would," he answered hesitantly, his hand going to rub the back of his neck.  They were both silent for a moment before Dean spoke again.  "Did, uh, did Gabe tell you about the cake?"

Castiel shook his head, feeling a little nervous.  "He only said it was a big deal."  Which, really, was probably enough to make a stab, but he wanted to hear Dean say it.  More than wanted; he _needed_ to hear Dean say it.

"I've only made that cake twice in my life without someone asking me to do it.  It's kind of a bitch to make, so I try to avoid it if I can," Dean explained, and Castiel took note that Dean was looking anywhere but at him.  "The first time I made it was for my little brother a couple years ago, when he'd gotten accepted into Stanford.  He's a little deluded into thinking cake is better than pie.  But I wanted him to know I was proud of him, so...  It took a few days because I couldn’t get it to work the way it was supposed to, but I finally got it right, and he loved it.  He likes it cold, too."  Dean's gaze shifted up to meet his finally.  "The second time was Tuesday night because I hoped you would be shocked enough to ask."

Dean was speaking rather haltingly, and he looked obviously uncomfortable at the prospect of having to continue explaining, shifting his gaze down to the ground.  Castiel decided he'd heard enough, and there was no way he would be able to stand there and listen as his mystery chef fought his way through the words.  So instead he acted on his own feelings.

Darting forward, Castiel slid his hands along Dean's jaw before pulling his head down into a hard kiss.  For a split second Dean was stiff and unresponsive, and Castiel was a little concerned he'd read the situation wrong.  But then Dean was kissing back, and Castiel found himself pressed between the wall and Dean with the chef's hands in his hair.  He was faintly sure he was making pathetic noises against Dean's mouth, but he really didn't care when Dean answered them by licking his way into his mouth.  Unsurprisingly Dean tasted _oh-so-sweet_ , and kissing Dean quickly became Castiel's new favorite pastime.

When Dean pulled away to let them both catch their breaths, Castiel made a noise of protest that had the other man chuckling.  Dean lightly dropped his forehead to press against Castiel's, smiling so wide the skin by his eyes crinkled.  "Two hours ago, this was the last thing I thought I'd be doing today," Dean murmured, his voice husky.  The timbre of it sent a shiver through Castiel, and his impatience won the battle.

"Yes, Dean, I was an idiot, and we'll have to thank Gabriel later, but there are a lot of things I'd like to do that _don't_ involve talking."

Dean laughed before leaning down to press their lips together again.

Oh, yeah, Castiel was _so_ glad his brother hadn't let him pass this up.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it! It's a little choppier than I wanted, but I'm hardly ever satisfied with my work. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> Thanks for reading! (:
> 
>  **edit:** So, [potterbuncker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/potterbuncker/pseuds/potterbuncker) asked about the cake. For those curious, the cake is something I've personally experienced. My great-aunt makes it on special occasions (read: Christmas and sometimes Easter or Thanksgiving) every year, and she mainly does it because she knows I love it, and we used to be really, really close when I was younger. It is like nothing I have ever eaten, and half my family has tried to make it so many times (even with her explicit directions) and failed. So that's the story behind the cake! (;


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